See You, Space Cowboy
by Faithfulakuma
Summary: The call girl business had changed throughout the years to meet the demands of the growing world. Instead of call girls traveling between cities, states and countries, they now traveled between planets. Mel is a call girl and her entire world is about to change when one of her clients is killed by a wanted man and she runs into a certain space cowboy... Spike/OC


The call girl business had changed throughout the years to meet the demands of the growing world. Instead of call girls traveling between cities, states and countries, they now traveled between planets. She'd traveled many places, despite only been in the business for a few years, and she'd grown to know many things, not just about the business. Her clients liked to talk and as someone who was interested in just about everything, she was good for listening. She'd heard about I.S.S.P. and their business (things she probably shouldn't know) and the lives of merchants, bounty hunters, scavengers; just about everything you could think of, she'd heard about it. Truthfully, her favorite profession to hear about were that of doctors. She had wanted to be a doctor when she was young, but had given up once realizing it was too hard. She enjoyed hearing about those who had succeeded and their daily routine of taking care of others. She was a kindred but jaded creature; she couldn't help it. Speaking of doctors...

Room 203. That's where he said to meet him. She sighed, ruffling her soft bright-colored hair as she wandered through the sea of people to the elevator. She hit the button and patiently waited for it, retrieving her phone from her pocket and re-reading the text. Three-thousand woolongs. An hour. Room 203. A sigh and she pockets the phone as the elevator arrives with an urgent ding, stepping inside. It's just like any other gig, she thinks to herself, ruffling her hair again and taking a deep breath. She had a deep dread settled in the pit of her stomach that she was attempting to soothe (and failing!). As the elevator hit the second floor, she gave her arms and hands a brief shake, relieving the tension there and stepped out.

* * *

"How old are you?" The question came from across the room, the source her client who was currently re-dressing himself. She was lazily strewn across the bed, hair disheveled and barely covered in a sheet. She was wrapped in it like a burrito, comfortable and warm, swaddled like a baby. A lit cigarette with a hanging cherry was held between two fingers, nails long and red. She grabbed the ashtray from the nightstand and knocked the cherry off before taking another puff, blowing the smoke into the air, attempting to make a ring.

"You already know the answer to that question." She responds softly, glancing to her clothes on the floor. Slowly, she finishes the cigarette, puts it out in the ashtray and stands, beginning to dress. He doesn't seem to like her answer, but doesn't say anything, just looking at her with a softened expression. Finally, he took a deep breath and sat down in the nearest chair, running a hand over his aged features, watching as she slipped her heels onto her feet and stood, gathering her things. Pulling her bag over her shoulder, she strides over to him before holding her cream-colored hand out.

"Three-thousand, unless you want me longer." Blonde brows quirk expectantly and then bright blue eyes look down to her hand.

Silence for a few moments, but it's hardly uncomfortable, more filled with anticipation than anything. His eyes just remained on her hand, dark eyes looking over the small, singular bracelet around her wrist. Hand-made, it seemed, and rather peculiar, as he hadn't noticed it before. As many times as they had been together, he'd never noticed that bracelet and it filled him with intrigue. Hand-made bracelets were rare these days, from lack of material as well as lack of value. So why was a high-end call girl wearing one? His thoughts are interrupted by her soft-spoken voice.

"Do you want me to stay the night?"

"How much would that cost me?" He responds, reaching for his wallet in the process. She sighed and sat down on the bed, long legs crossing.

"You've never wanted me overnight before. What's going on with you?"

* * *

She hadn't had an ice cream sundae in a while; it sure was nice, regardless of the circumstances. She sat across from him in the the booth, light hair pulled up into a loose, messy bun. She was dressed less professionally, a bit more lazily—at his request of her being "herself". Most of her makeup was removed, only some remnants left behind underneath and around her eyes. She looked less attractive, she thought, and more dead and exhausted. This was more true than anyone would know, especially the other, if she had her way. The diner was small and quiet, surprisingly peaceful, and it forced her to try to recall the last time she actually had time to slow down and _live_.

"Are you enjoying your sundae?" He asked suddenly, his own in front of him: untouched.

"Yes. Why aren't you?" She responds, looking from him and her sundae, which was already halfway gone. She was a starving working girl with a sweet tooth; she had to be careful about it, lest she gain too much weight.

"I think you know why."

A sigh and she places her elbow on the table, resting her cheek on her fist. She peered over at him with softened eyes, all too sympathetic in that moment. It wasn't unlike her to be that way, but it was unlike her to _show_ it. Granted, he'd asked for this. However, even if he had, she wasn't going to give him all of it. She'd never done that with anyone and no matter how much money he gave her, he wouldn't get that privilege. He didn't deserve that much of her: no one did.

"Why has this happened? What have you done?" She inquires further, picking up the spoon with her free hand and digging into her sundae again.

"I thought we went through this earlier."

"You explained that they were after you and you didn't want to be alone. You didn't explain why." She responds, putting the spoonful of ice cream in her mouth and suckling on the metallic utensil for a moment.

"If you knew this was your last night on earth, wouldn't you want to spend it with someone? Someone you cared about?" He asked, finally grabbing his spoon and digging into his sundae, diverting his gaze from her.

"Don't, Richard, don't. You know what I am and you _know_ that love isn't good in this type of relationship—"

"Please. Don't do that. Let me...let me care about you. After all, after tonight, I'm a dead man."

"Fine, but you better pay me extra for this."


End file.
